


... And Further

by Starralyse



Series: The Ends of the Earth [2]
Category: Days of Our Lives
Genre: M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Paulson - Freeform, Sonny POV, canon up to a point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-07-29 21:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7701211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starralyse/pseuds/Starralyse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picks up from The Ends of the Earth. It moves back and forth through past and present events in Sonny's life in this story universe. Told from Sonny's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shuffle

The ease of Sonny and Paul's after-dinner conversation was replaced by an intimate silence as the sun vanished behind the horizon and the cabin grew dark. The loudest noises came from the crack and pop of the logs in the fireplace, as they burned, snapped, and shifted in the grate.

 

As Sonny placed a kettle of water on the burner stove and waited for it to boil, Paul shed the damp clothes he'd worn climbing the mountain and laid them over the back of a chair, changing into a fresh undershirt from his backpack. The orange flames of the fire, flickering warm and bright, bathed his back in a warm orange glow. Once, Sonny had known that body almost as well as his own: the heat and silk of it; the smooth hard planes and intriguing dips; the flex and play of the well-defined muscles beneath his exploring hands.

 

It had been almost _five_ _years_ since they'd been lovers.

 

Those years had been kind to Paul. His youthful attractiveness had matured into a finely honed masculinity, and he carried himself with a new sense of confidence and purpose. Not that old-Paul had been self-effacing. He'd accepted the recognition and adulation he received as if it were his due, but that brash arrogance had been scoured away by the drama of his coming out. It had been replaced by the quiet assurance of a man who knew that he was genuinely loved by his family, no matter what.

 

The cabin they were staying in was stark and primitive, fitted with the basic necessities for mountain living: fire, stove, water jugs, sleeping pallets and food stores. It's rustic-ness explained why it had been chosen for the _Man vs. the Mountain_ series Sonny had been working on. It contained no modern entertainments, unless you counted a few well-thumbed old classics in the bookshelves, and no modern technology, bar the satellite phone kept for emergency use.

 

The cabin had three rooms, but with only the two of them sleeping there, Sonny and Paul had decided to set up their sleeping pallets in the living zone where the fireplace was already lit.

 

As they'd carried the bedding into the room, Sonny noticed that Paul was setting up two mattresses. Sonny had wanted to ask him if he wanted to sleep in Sonny's bed tonight, but when the chance came, he was suddenly overcome with a strange feeling of shyness.

 

(It had been over _five years_ since they had last been lovers).

 

The moment had passed.

 

Sonny cast a surreptitious look at Paul, who lay back on his sleeping pallet staring up at the ceiling with his arms crossed behind his head. The soft light cast by the fireplace made his expression unreadable. Sonny couldn't think of a recent time when it had been just the two of them, alone, without the rest of their lives crowding around the edges.

 

As if sensing Sonny's eyes on him, Paul turned and looked at Sonny.

 

He asked, “Sonny, are you sorry that I came?”

 

* * *

 

Sonny stood in the cold grey parking garage, waiting for Paul with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, and his collar rucked up against the chill night air.

 

He hadn't felt the cold when he'd been on the roof with Paul. Not when the heat of Paul's body was pressed against him and he was clinging to Paul, ranging his body for the maximum amount of contact. It was only afterwards that he'd felt the cold, as he'd flopped back against the deckchair, breathing heavily. He'd slid out from underneath Paul's shoulder, sitting up and turning away to clean himself off; pulling up his trousers and buttoning his shirt; packing away the evidence of their brief encounter. He'd been about to turn around and say something to Paul, when he'd felt the other man's body press against his back, and a muscular arm wrap around his waist.

 

“That was amazing,” Paul said. His breath was hot as he nuzzled the side of Sonny's neck.

 

Sonny ducked his head and he felt Paul's arms tighten imperceptibly around him.

 

“Sonny,” he said, quietly. “Would you like to come back to my place and stay the night?”

 

And _that_ was how Sonny found himself in an underground car park alone, standing next to Paul Narita's prized black _Lamborghini Gallardo_ at ten minutes to midnight. Paul had wanted to say goodnight to the host of the party and he'd asked Sonny if he minded waiting for him near his car. Sonny – who'd been sweaty, smelling of sex, and not in the mood to talk to strangers – had been happy enough to meet in the parking garage.

 

That had been more than twenty minutes ago.

 

It occurred to him that maybe Paul had changed his mind; that he'd decided to stay at the party after all. Maybe, he'd seen somebody he liked better than Sonny and wanted to talk to him instead and was upstairs taking down his number, whilst Sonny waited in the parking garage like a lovestruck idiot.

 

 _How long, he wondered,_ _was a reasonable time to wait, before admitting that you'd been stood up?_

 

 

* * *

  

Sonny tore off out of the club, and pushed his way through the meandering crowds gathering along the Horton Square promenade, hardly noticing where he was going. He thought he may have bumped into some man's shoulder, but he couldn't stop to wait, so his curt _“sorry”_ bounced behind him, drifting in the wake of his footsteps.

 

He was passing _The Brady Pub_ when Victor suddenly loomed ahead of him with Maggie beside him, stopping his progress at the cruelest time, to talk about the night clubs. As if Sonny cared about the clubs, _now._

 

He told him so.

 

The old man took exception to it, refusing to let go of Sonny's arm; offering an apology that contained no actual admission of wrongdoing, and a hollow recounting of how Sonny's choices had created the situation he found himself in.

 

And Sonny didn't care that this avaricious old man was making off with his club's customers, whether it was intentional or not. A flash of white hot anger flared, as he accused Victor of being greedy – and he saw the old man's face crumble with a look of confusion and hurt.

 

“ _Sonny,”_ Victor pleaded.

 

Sonny brushed past him.

 

“ _Sonny – wait –”_

 

But Sonny couldn't stop. Not to feel sorrow, or sadness, or _regret_. He couldn't allow himself to feel anything but the white hot rage that fuelled his footsteps towards the Salem Inn. Because if he did, because if he gave in to any other feeling than anger, there would be nothing to shield him from the sick churning dread that was threatening to rise to the surface.

 

Sonny needed to know where his husband was - _right at this moment_ – and if he was still there.

 

... With _Paul._

 

He rushed through the park gates into the manicured garden and didn't register the footsteps behind him until he was suddenly grabbed and held by a brutish stranger's arm strapped roughly against his throat, choking him.

 

Sonny struggled.

 

Suddenly, he felt a violent stab of agony as the metal blade slid into his back.

 

And like that, his struggles ceased, ebbing away with the wash of his own blood. He flopped to the ground and was rolled face down in the dirt by his assailant.

 

He was going to die.  _He thought, I'm not ready yet._

 

* * *

 

Paul and Sonny laid side by side in the bed in Paul's hotel room, flopped on their backs, staring up at the ceiling.Their breathing was rough and uneven.

 

Sonny turned his neck to look at Paul.

 

He had his arms behind his head and was staring at the ceiling, with a smile on his face. If either of them had smoked, this would have been the penultimate post-coital cigarette moment.

 

Sonny said, “You look very pleased with yourself.”

 

Paul lowered his arms and turned on his shoulder to look at Sonny. He reached over and brushed his fingers tenderly along Sonny's jaw, rubbing his thumb gently against the fullness of Sonny's lower lip.

 

“I refuse to take all the credit,” he said, staring at Sonny's mouth.

 

He drew closer. Paul stared into Sonny's eyes for a moment, then slid his hand along the side of Sonny's throat and down his chest, until his fingers were splayed against Sonny's mat of dark chest hair.

 

“I love this,” he said, tangling his fingers in it.

 

“It's awful,” said Sonny. “I can't get it under control. It just keeps growing back.”

 

“It's beautiful,” Paul said.

 

Sonny's stomach flip flopped with nervous butterflies.

 

Paul stroked Sonny's chest hair and thumbed one of Sonny's nipples. He placed his lips over the other one, staring into Sonny's eyes as his lips closed over it, grazing it lightly with his teeth.

 

Sonny shivered and Paul smiled.

 

“I suppose you have to go to work this morning,” said Sonny, as Paul continued his downward exploration of Sonny's chest hair. “Media commitments and that sort of thing?”

 

“No. It's off season.” Paul pressed a row of kisses down Sonny's stomach.

 

Sonny sucked in his breath.

 

“I guess I should go, though,” said Sonny. “Give you some time to yourself.”

 

Paul took hold of Sonny's hands, and one by one, gently pulled back his arms. He positioned them on the pillow behind Sonny's head, the palms facing upwards.

 

“Don't go,” said Paul, lightly trailing his hand down Sonny's arm, and skimming over his side with his palms.

 

“My friends, they're probably wondering where I am,” said Sonny.

 

Paul rolled himself upright and straddled Sonny's thighs.

 

“They'll probably think you got lucky,” said Paul. “Or went off on another adventure. Both could be true if you want them to be. A friend of mine has offered me his place in Maui for a week. My family can't come; my grandfather can't travel and my mother is staying with him, so I'll be there all alone ... unless you want to come.”

 

Sonny stared at Paul, drinking in the sight of him resting on his knees naked and unselfconscious in front of him.

 

Sonny nodded dumbly.

 

“You'll come?” Paul's face broke into a wide smile, as if he never expected Sonny to say yes.

 

“Yes,” said Sonny.

 

Paul leaned over and drew Sonny into a kiss. His soft lips coaxed and teased Sonny's mouth until it opened, playing with Sonny's tongue.

 

It was gentle, and sweet, and seemed to last forever.

 

* * *

 

When Sonny first saw Dubai he was sitting in the window seat of a jet plane, looking down at it from the sky; an exotic metropolis of modern glass and steel rising up through the clouds, surrounded by an expanse of jewel blue ocean stretching as far as the eye could see.

 

His parents had rented a place in the suburbs, a flat adobe terrace house that was identical to all the others in the street. The only greenery was the potted palm in the front yard; otherwise it was dusty and beige, resembling the desert that surrounded the town. Inside the unprepossessing exterior, it was airy and light-filled, fitted in a modern style with premium chrome-plated appliances, ambient lighting, and cool stone tile floors.

 

In the early hours of the morning, his Dad commuted to the city centre, and returned home when Sonny was already in bed for the night.

 

Some nights he would see Sonny's open door and look in on him to find him laying awake in the dark. He'd often sit by the side of Sonny's bed and flick his hair back from his forehead and tell him to go to sleep. From his parent's room Sonny heard his mother speak sharply, and he would strain to hear his father's low dull murmur in reply before the lights flickered out, and the house became quiet.

 

During the day, it was his mom who waited for him to get home from school. If her smile was a little too bright, and and she hugged him like she was trying to squeeze the air out of him, Sonny would pretend that this just was just normal, and ignore the half-empty bottle of wine in the kitchen cabinet and the strong smell of peppermint on her breath.

 

Most of the time it was just Sonny and his mother in the house. The twins were almost adults, and they were always out with friends or girlfriends. When his mom asked him if there was a girl he was interested in, Sonny always said no.

 

He hadn't told his parents that he liked boys.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He heard hurried footsteps and saw Paul pelting through the parking garage at a run.

 

“I am so sorry,” Paul said breathlessly. “They wouldn't let me get away. They just kept talking and bringing people over, even though I said I had to go – ”

 

He stopped to take a breath and looked at Sonny beseechingly.

 

“That's okay,” said Sonny.

 


	2. Kaleidoscope

Sonny sat in the Kiriakis mansion eating the cookies and milk that were brought by his great uncle Victor's butler, Henderson. He'd been invited to morning tea by Victor, and Sonny had agreed to come (only partly because Henderson's chocolate chip cookies were highly superior to the ones his mother made). He also wanted his great uncle's advice about a problem at school.

 

Victor had fussed when he first saw Sonny's black eye, and suddenly Sonny didn't want to tell him that Tommy Kirk had hit him. But Tommy was his problem at school.

  

“What should I do?” Sonny asked.

 

“First of all,” said Uncle Victor. “A Kiriakis always knows his enemy.”

 

“His name is Tommy Kirk,” said Sonny. “And he punched me and stole my lunch money.”

 

“What did you do after that?” asked Uncle Victor.

 

His Uncle Victor stared at him with his grizzled old eagle’s eyes. They were sharp, knowing. Sonny thought he would know if Sonny told the truth or not.

 

“My eye hurt, so I asked for my Mom so she could fix it,” said Sonny.

 

“What about Tommy Kirk? What did you do to him?”

 

Sonny was quiet. He was aware that he’d done something wrong, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

 

“Sonny?” said Uncle Victor.

 

“Nothing,” said Sonny in a small voice.

 

“And why, after he stole your lunch money and hit you in the eye, didn’t you fight back?”

 

“He was bigger than me,” said Sonny.

 

“No,” said Uncle Victor. “That’s not the reason. Sonny?”

 

Sonny remembered. Tommy Kirk was almost a foot taller than he was, and large around the shoulders. He threw Sonny against the wall as if he weighed nothing. It had hurt. When Sonny looked up, Tommy Kirk was looming over him. Tommy pulled his arm back and let his fist go, and Sonny had just sat there, frozen, staring, as it crashed into his face.

 

“I was afraid,” said Sonny.

 

“So, who is your enemy?”

 

“Tommy Kirk?” said Sonny.

 

“No,” said Uncle Victor. “Tommy Kirk is just a punk. The world is full of punks like him. You're better than that. Who is your enemy?”

 

Sonny looks at his uncle, confused. He and Tommy were the only ones there.

 

“Was it me?” said Sonny, not really believing that this was the answer, but seeing no other.

 

“Fear is the enemy,” said Uncle Victor. “Until you learn to master your fear, you will always be at the mercy of punks like Tommy Kirk.”

 

* * *

 

“Sonny, have I done something wrong?” asked Paul. “Are you already regretting that I came?”

 

“ _No,” said Sonny. “No, Paul.”_ He sat next to Paul and took his hands, looking imploringly into his face.

 

It had only been half a day since Paul had arrived at the cabin, and Sonny couldn't believe he had brought this new relationship to the brink already.

 

It was a new record, even for him.

 

 _Sonny Kiriakis,_ _relationship killer._ His marriage on the rocks after 6 months; estranged by 12; divorced within 18. His affair with _Paul_ had barely made it past the first year after that last fateful conversation about marriage ... But what could he say to fix things? Paul had already picked up on Sonny's fears – and, as Sonny had learnt from the lessons of his own marriage, lying never helped anything.

 

There was no choice but to tell the truth if he wanted this relationship to work.

 

And Sonny realised that he really _really_ did.

 

“ _It's just_ – it's been five years since we were together,” explained Sonny. “I don't know to act – I mean, we've known each other such a long time, but everything just feels so new, and different – and – _”_

 

Sonny trails off.

 

“Awkward?” said Paul.

 

Sonny jumps on it. “You think things are awkward?”

 

“Don't you?” said Paul.

 

Sonny stared at their linked hands. It was easier than looking into Paul's eyes.

 

“Do you remember when you came back to Salem that first time, and I saw you in the waiting room of the hospital?” Sonny said.

 

“Of course,” said Paul. “It was like a miracle.”

 

“I was so surprised to see you. One moment I was putting away hospital supplies and the next moment you were standing there telling me we could be together again.”

 

_Sonny's world had tilted, and for a moment, he'd allowed himself to be drawn into those warm dark eyes, and to remember..._

 

“I didn't know how to react,” Sonny said. “I had a life, and it was _settled_ , and then suddenly the past we shared came crashing back, so fast that I didn't really have time to process it. And before I knew it, you were kissing me...”

 

Sonny stared into Paul's eyes, willing him to understand.

 

Paul said, “I was so excited to see you. I know that kissing you was – _inappropriate_ – but when I saw you I knew I couldn't bear to waste another moment. _I know I rushed you, Sonny.”_ He meets Sonny's stare. _“_ But if time is what you need, I can give that to you.”

 

“Thank you,” said Sonny, relieved.

 

“But I want to be honest as well,” said Paul.

 

“You can talk to me,” Sonny said.

 

“I want you to have the time you need to think about us,” said Paul. “But I have known that you are the one I wanted from the first moment I saw you at the party. I knew it again, when I saw you in the hospital waiting room, and when I came here to bring you home. If you want to take a few weeks or a couple of months to get used to the idea of us, then I can handle that, because a few extra weeks is nothing, when I feel as I've been waiting for you for years.”

 

“ _Oh Paul,”_ said Sonny.

 

“That's just how I feel,” said Paul.

 

He let go of Sonny's hands.

 

He said, "I think I should leave here tomorrow. I'll be radioing the helicopter to meet me at the ranger's station helipad, and you can come with me, or stay with your friends there, that's your choice. We can – get together and talk later when you're back in California.”

 

He turned away and Sonny felt his heart contract. 

  

 

* * *

 

 

The hot Texan sun baked Sonny's skin as he watched two boys ride down the street on their dirt bikes. He was supposed to be helping his mother in the garden, but he had no idea whether he'd just pulled out a weed or a flower. He crushed it under his foot and hid the mangled remains under a pile of garden leaves.

 

The boy from across the street pulled into the garage of his house, whilst his friend angled his bike into the mouth of the driveway. They waved each other goodbye before his neighbour went inside.

 

The other boy saw Sonny from across the street.

 

“Hey,” he said.

 

“Hey,” said Sonny.

 

Sonny's mother looked up from her weeding. She was wearing a large sunhat and patterned floral gardening gloves.

 

“Hello Brent,” she said. She knew his parents. “Would you like to come inside for some lemonade? I was just going to have some with Jackson.”

 

Sonny knew what his mother was up to. She was trying to set up Sonny with some new friends.

 

It was so _uncool_.

 

Sonny tried to hide his embarrassment.

 

After leaving Dubai, it was taking time to acclimate to his new surroundings and make new friends. He spent most of his time alone. It was mid-term, and everybody had already split into their groups. Sonny spent most of his time with his parents. His father was home a lot more often now.

  

No one was more surprised than Sonny when Brent said, “Sure.”

 

Sonny looked up from his study of the gravel driveway.

 

“I like your bike,” he said.

 

“It's all right,” said Brent proudly, with a hint of a cool Texan drawl.

 

* * *

 

Sonny met Paul in the park.

 

It wasn't intentional, but Sonny had noticed that they had a way of gravitating towards each other, even when they were trying to stay apart.

 

Since Sonny rejected Paul's recent declaration of love, Sonny felt that Paul was actively trying to avoid him. Sonny hadn't seen him at Club TBD, or jogging in the park at his usual hour.

 

But one random lunchtime walk later, here they both were, standing in the park with their hands in their pockets. Paul was about to leave, but Sonny stopped him with a touch.

 

Already, this time was different.

 

Sonny had been starting to wonder whether Paul had it right after all; whether he'd seen some fatal flaw in Sonny's marriage that made him think that Sonny was still available, even as he continued to assert his commitment to his marriage. Because, as much as Sonny liked to believe that he knew his husband better than anyone else, he didn't think that _Paul_ would have been blindsided by Will's _“honesty hour”_ like Sonny just was.

 

And now, this time, it was Sonny who wanted to talk to Paul about his feelings.

 

Paul said, “Why now?”

 

Sonny told him about the question Will asked during “honesty hour”, and how Will used the therapy as an excuse to grill Sonny about his feelings for Paul.

 

Paul said, “Sonny, we're not going to have this conversation. We're not going to talk about us, whilst you're still mad at Will.” He was annoyed, angry. He left Sonny without a backward look.

 

And Sonny thought, even when it's different, it's still the same. 

 

Once again, Sonny is left hurt, angry and alone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There was a boy at school in Dubai who had started to notice Sonny. He would stare at him when he didn't think Sonny was looking.

 

The first time Sonny had spoken to him, it had been just the two of them alone, arriving at the school entrance at the same time. They hadn't said much more than hello to each other, before the other boy had seen his friends coming and joined them, ignoring Sonny as if he was suddenly nothing.

 

At the time, Sonny had thought that meant the boy didn't like him, but the day after, he was back to staring at Sonny again.

 

Sonny didn't know what it meant, and he started to avoid the boy whenever he saw him in the schoolyard, so he wouldn't be stared at.

 

* * *

 

Billy Arturo's dorm room party was all about beer and bongs, and sloppy kissing, mostly from drunk girls who didn't know who Sonny was, or that he was gay.

 

Sonny thought he must have been a little drunk, because he liked the kissing, but when his hands started to explore further, the touch and feel of her was just so sticky and soft – and _wrong –_ that he felt his drunken euphoria fizzle and die. He pulled away, peeling the drunken girl off him and staggering out into the hallway at the end of the landing, his head swimming sickeningly. He slumped in a heap on the top of the stairs and put his head between his knees. The dizziness started to abate.

 

“Hey buddy,” said Brent. Sonny felt an arm hook over his shoulders. “How are ya doing?” He rubbed circles on Sonny's back.

 

“I kissed a girl,” Sonny said.

 

“Gross,” said his friend. “Was it Lisa Ciccorello? She's been trying to get with me all night.” As people pushed past on the stairwell, Sonny was squashed against him.

 

“I don't know who she was,” said Sonny. “She just said I was cute and started kissing me.”

 

Another rowdy group of partygoers came staggering up the stairwell. Brent said, “Let's go somewhere else,” pulling Sonny along with him by the hand. They weaved through groups of drunken horny teenagers until they arrived at a closed dorm room with a “do not disturb” sign hanging from the doorknob.

 

Brent pushed the door open and they went inside. The room was completely dark.

 

Sonny pulled at Brent's arm.

 

“Whose room is this?” he whispered.

 

“C'mon,” said Brent, pointing at one of the dorm beds. “We can crash here.”

 

He pulled Sonny towards the empty bed and they stretched onto it, laying side by side in the dark.

 

“I thought you said that tonight was the night you were going to hook up with Dane Clark,” said Sonny.

 

“Can't,” said Brent. “It turns out he's straight. That is all your fault, by the way, for encouraging me to go after a jock.”

 

“He's hardly a jock,” said Sonny. “He plays _lacrosse_.”

 

“This night has been a total dud. I can't believe that in a frat party with almost a hundred guys in it, I can't find a single other dude who is gay,” said Brent.

 

“Hello,” said Sonny.

 

“You're different,” said Brent. “Besides, I brought you here.”

 

“I'm still gay, though. We could _– you know –_ if you wanted to?” Sonny said hopefully.

 

“With you?” said Brent.

 

“Sure,” said Sonny.

 

“And you wouldn't write poetry about it afterwards, or start choosing wedding plates?” said Brent.

 

“I'm not like that,” said Sonny, aggrieved. He suddenly wondered whether Brent had discovered Sonny's New Year wishing tin with the handwritten “Kiss Brent” note in it.  _Shit!_

 

He was about to complain that he wrote that before he and Brent even became friends, when he felt Brent's lips slide over his. The kiss was a bit sloppy, and a bit off-centre, but Sonny returned it enthusiastically and wrapped his arms around Brent's neck. They rolled on the mattress, and he felt Brent tugging at his belt buckle.

 

“Pants.” Their lips parted for long enough for Brent to speak, and then Sonny was sliding his hands around Brent's waist, trying to undo his jeans buttons with slightly shaking fingers. As Sonny pulled at the jeans they bunched between Brent's thighs and the mattress, so Brent rolled and reared up on his knees as they were yanked down. Then, they switched positions with Sonny on top and Brent's hands tugging at Sonny's pants.

 

Sonny squeaked as Brent's hands cupped his cock through the cotton of his underpants.

 

They touched each other in the dark, giggling at the sensations of their hands on the other's genitals, and Sonny thought that he couldn't imagine a more perfect moment...

 

Until a voice spoke from the dark. “For fuck's sake, would you two just fuck and get it over with. Then maybe I can finally get some sleep.”

 

Sonny went completely quiet and Brent stilled.

 

“Um, sorry,” said Brent aloud.

 

“Who is that?” whispered Sonny.

 

“It's Glenn,” Brent whispered back.

 

Sonny took a moment to think about that.

 

“Glenn, your brother?” he said.

 

“Yeah.” Brent drew away from Sonny and flopped onto his back. "I thought he was going away this weekend."

 

“Fuck,” said Sonny.

 

He laid next to Brent on the narrow bunkbed, and they were both silent, as they stared at the ceiling in the dark.

 

* * *

 

 


End file.
